


The View from Here

by ShitpostingfromtheBarricade



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Don't copy to another site, Get-Together Fic, Grantaire's POV, M/M, and uh yeah, my beta told me R almost seems composed enough to have his shit together, no really it's the most straight-forward fic I've ever written about these idiots, pining!jolras, rare fic where no one knows about Grantaire's giant fucking crush, short and sweet this time, slight enjonine shade--blink and you'll miss it, that's what I was going for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 06:06:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17381048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade/pseuds/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade
Summary: Grantaire overhears Courfeyrac encouraging Enjolras to ask someone out.  No big deal, no big deal, no big deal...Warnings: some language, reference to smoking (tobacco)





	The View from Here

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to [PieceOfCait](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieceOfCait/pseuds/PieceOfCait) for beta-ing!

Courfeyrac has been counting down the hours—nay, minutes—for this t-shirt order to come in. Ever since it was submitted twelve business days ago, he has allowed exactly zero (0) people to forget about the impending shipment of shirts comprised of his pun and some design Feuilly doodled up in a meeting.

And yet, here the box sits, and Courfeyrac is nowhere to be found.

“Grantaire, kindly find Courf, can you? He’ll never let us forget if we open it without him, and some of us have early starts tomorrow,” Combeferre sighs, clearly referring to Joly who is nearly asleep where he stands already.

Grantaire nods, setting off to find the exuberant friend. He’s just about to check the main floor when he thinks he hears Courfeyrac’s voice wafting from the second-floor balcony in the back.

“—he’s a great guy, and he likes you,” Courfeyrac’s voice says, punctuating the last three words with emphasis. Both men stand on the balcony with their backs to Grantaire.

“I don’t know…” replies another voice—Enjolras?

“I know you’ve seen how he looks at you, and he always makes a point to save you a seat next to him in lectures. You could use a nice guy in your life for a change.” 

There’s silence in response.

“Look, Enj, you can’t keep on like you are now. You’re stagnating just waiting around like this.”

“I’m not waiting, I’m—”

“Wasting your youth and beauty away.” The light from the room illuminates Courfeyrac’s dismissive gesture. “Look, it’ll either work out and you’ll be happier, or it won’t and you’ll be exactly where you are now.”

Enjolras makes a small grunt in response, and Grantaire sees Courfeyrac turn to address Enjolras directly. 

Courfeyrac’s eye catches on Grantaire, lingering for a moment before he finishes speaking with Enjolras. “Just promise me you’ll give it a shot, yeah?”

Enjolras looks toward Courfeyrac and rolls his eyes, seeming prepared to turn back forward before jerking his head toward Grantaire, turning his whole body with him this time. “Grantaire!” he exclaims, clearly surprised. “How can I be of service to you?”

Grantaire sees Courfeyrac behind Enjolras on the balcony raising his eyebrows and contorting his face oddly as he looks at the ground, stubbing his foot against the concrete in silence.

“I just uh…needed Courf. T-shirt orders?” manages Grantaire. There’s no reason to feel flustered, he reminds himself.

Except there is? Enjolras likes someone? Grantaire never allowed himself to believe that he had a chance with him, but that doesn’t make the news any more welcome.

“They’re in??” Courfeyrac asks excitedly. He pushes past Grantaire and up to the third floor without ceremony, leaving Grantaire and Enjolras in awkward silence.

“Sorry for keeping him,” Enjolras says, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry for interrupting. Sounds like it was important.”

Enjolras jerks to attention. “What? No, I mean. Not really. Why?”

Grantaire shrugs. “T-shirts can wait.”

Enjolras snorts. “Not where Courf is concerned.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Courf,” Grantaire smiles. They stand there in silence for another several beats before Grantaire clears his throat, taking his cue to leave. “Anyway, uh. Good luck with the guy?”

Enjolras smiles stiffly. “Yeah. Thanks. Thanks,” he repeats, nodding. 

Grantaire turns away, grimacing. Of course he had to make things weird. Not enough to interrupt the conversation, he had to make it clear that he was eavesdropping before then too. He jams a hand into his hair as he walks, tugging at the curls in what he hopes isn’t a too-obviously distressed motion. 

When he finally makes his way up the steps to Courfeyrac, the shirts are a wild nest barely contained to a single table with the man lying on top.

“Did they meet your every expectation?” Grantaire asks, crossing his arms in amusement.

“And more,” Courfeyrac sighs dreamily. “So much more.” 

\---

Two nights and three hours of meeting minutes later, Grantaire once again finds himself among the final members in the building. It’s his night to pack up the room. He’s not sure what Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s excuses are.

“—just don’t know what his problem is!” Courfeyrac huffs as Grantaire locks the door.

Ordinarily he’d make the most basic effort to pretend he hasn’t been listening, but the third-floor landing isn’t nearly large enough to feign that.

“Is everything okay?” he asks instead.

“‘ _Is everything okay?_ ’” Courfeyrac mocks. “Of course everything’s not okay! Enjolras—”

“Won’t tell either of us what’s going on. Perhaps you can be of greater assistance?” interrupts Combeferre. He’s giving Courfeyrac a peculiar sort of look that Grantaire doesn’t entirely trust, but soon enough Courfeyrac is sighing and nodding in assent.

“Yeah, he might have something to share with you,” Courfeyrac says pointedly. Grantaire feels thoroughly accused of something, but of what he has no idea. He gives Courfeyrac a puzzled glance before looking to Combeferre in wordless expectation.

“He should still be on the balcony.”

“Right, thanks. I’ll keep you updated,” Grantaire responds carefully before heading down the steps. 

True to Combeferre’s word, Enjolras is leaning on the back balcony once more. Grantaire steps up beside him.

“Quite a view,” he remarks, gesturing widely at the plain wall of the brick building across from them. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Enjolras look over at him before looking back out. 

“Ha ha,” Enjolras responds dryly; there’s no bite to it, just an edge of tiredness.

“What’re you doing out here?” In addition to having no view to speak of, the chilly night is seeping in. Grantaire feels goosebumps forming under his sweater.

“Would you believe me if I told you I used to smoke?”

“Not for a second.”

He looks over to see Enjolras smile. “You’re right, it was ‘Ferre. But I kind of liked having an excuse to step out every once in a while, so even after he quit I kept up the habit.”

“Yeah? And what brings you to want to step out at—” Grantaire checks his phone. “10:30 at night?”

Enjolras shakes his head. 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire intones seriously. “Did something happen? Do I need to beat someone up? I will.” He pauses, encouraged by the small smile Enjolras wears as he shakes his head. “I mean, if they’re bigger than me I’d appreciate some advanced notice so I can invite Bahorel or something as back-up, but—”

“It’s nothing like that,” Enjolras assures with a soft laugh. “I uh. I asked the guy out. The guy Courf was telling me to ask. Out.”

Something in Grantaire’s heart fractures, but he pushes on. “How’d it go?”

“Not entirely according to plan.”

They stand in comfortable silence, pretending to look at the brick wall in the half-lit shadows. 

“He’s an idiot,” Grantaire says at last.

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“I mean, it’d take nothing short of an idiot to turn you down.” Grantaire begins counting off on his fingers. “You’re smart, you’re gorgeous, you’re basically a slightly less creepy Pied Piper with your enchanting speeches leading people to follow you into your metaphorical battle—”

“Hey, I work hard on those speeches, none of that is luck or magi—”

“Gods, work ethic, thanks for reminding me,” Grantaire adds with a roll of his eyes and a smirk. “And then there’s the whole goody two-shoes ‘save the planet’ thing you’ve got going. I mean, you’ve made enough attacks on the hypocrisy of the Catholic church that no one’ll be nominating you to sainthood anytime soon, but that’s a pretty impressive boyfriend-resume.”

He can see Enjolras’s cheeks burning bright pink in the light from inside, and it’s been silent long enough that Grantaire is pretty sure he’s exposed his stupid crush, embarrassed himself horribly, and should be exiting the building via balcony. Before he can quite get a leg over to begin his descent, though, Enjolras speaks up.

“He, ah. He didn’t say no, actually. That is to say…”

“He accepted. Enj, that’s great,” Grantaire forces out, relieved that his voice doesn’t crack. He wasn’t exactly elated to think that someone had rejected Enjolras, but it seemed vastly preferable to the plummet his stomach now receives as he swallows back a lump in his throat. 

“Yeah. But I withdrew the request.”

“The request?”

“To go on a date.”

“You un-asked him out after he already said ‘yes’?” Grantaire clarifies wildly, gaping at the man in front of him. At Enjolras’s reluctant nod, he continues. “You can’t just do that.”

“Well, I did,” Enjolras shrugs with a small smirk. Just like that, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Un-asking someone out. The smug bastard.

“Why?”

“I like someone else. It’s that simple.” Enjolras sighs, and Grantaire watches the man tug his hand through mangled golden curls. “I thought I could give dating other people a try, but as soon as he agreed I knew I couldn’t do it.”

Grantaire is stunned. “So why did you even ask him?”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Courf’s been pestering me for weeks to try and move on, so I figured I may as well give it a shot. See if it helped at all. In any case, it’s not like I have a chance with the person I do like,” he huffs.

“And what gives you that impression?” Grantaire asks, incredulous.

Enjolras looks away, down at the streets below them. 

“He’s just… he’s smart, probably one of the smartest people I know, and he has this way of making me feel incredibly naïve. Like.” Enjolras pauses a moment, seeming to collect his thoughts before proceeding. “Lots of people say that, right? Every day. That what we do is silly, that it’ll never come to anything. Doubting everything we say and do and work for.” Grantaire nods. He’d know, he’s one of those assholes. “And most of the time that doesn’t really bother me. They’re just lazy or guilty, and they don’t take the time to bother listening. But he…his opinion matters to me. And part of that is because he really does take the time to listen to what I say and really think about it and comes up with real rebuttals. But another part of it is because despite that, he still does his part in trying to make the world better. And also because…just because it’s him. I don’t know.”

“Oh my God,” Grantaire whispers. Enjolras looks up at him, cheeks glowing. “You’re in love with Combeferre!”

Enjolras gives him a look of mute disbelief before reaching up to smack him across the back of the head.

“Hey, hey, okay, okay, not Combeferre.” Grantaire pulls his arms in close, crossing them over his chest to ward off the cold. “Good. Whoever this guy is sounds like a real jackass, and I would hate to have my veneration of Ferre so abused.” 

There’s a moment of austere silence between them. 

(Never let it be said that Grantaire can let a good thing be.)

“Is it Feuilly then?”

“Wha--? No, Grantaire, why on--”

“He doesn’t really seem like a jackass, but I don’t know what he does on his own time. Éponine’s out, obviously--no offense, but you’re gay as the day is long.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Bossuet, then? I mean, he’s already got his triad, but no one has ever called you unambitious.”

“Of course not! Grantaire!”

Enjolras’s face is reddening again, and Grantaire would swear that his hair is getting larger in his consternation. Grantaire tries to smother his own smile, rubbing his chin in feigned thought. “Jackass, jackass, jackass...Bahorel?”

“You!” Enjolras explodes with an irritated huff. “It’s you. You’re the jackass.”

Now that he’s spoken, Enjolras is avoiding eye-contact with Grantaire--which is probably good because Grantaire needs a moment to regain his bearings and make sure he understands what he’s heard correctly.

“I’m the jackass,” Grantaire repeats. Enjolras jerks his head in a quick nod. “The jackass you like. That jackass. That’s me.” A more hesitant nod this time, but a nod nevertheless. “The jackass you revoked a date request for. I’m that jackass in particular.” No nod this time, but Grantaire thinks the shock of what he said might be settling in as the puffs of breath in front of Enjolras’s face grow more shallow and rapid.

Grantaire reaches over, ghosting Enjolras’s jaw. “Hey, look at me?” he asks softly, guiding the blond’s face to lock eyes with him. “Enjolras,” he breathes with a smile.

Enjolras looks up at him, chin tilted up by the suggestion of Grantaire’s fingers. Half of his face is in shadow, light from the room blocked by the delicate arc of Enjolras’s nose. The other half is lit up brilliantly, delightfully pink from the chill and embarrassment. Grantaire slowly leans down, giving Enjolras time to pull away, but he doesn’t—and if that isn’t the most incredible thing that’s happened tonight.

Their lips touch in a chaste kiss, lingering just long enough to exchange warmth and be sure that it happened. Grantaire feels like a schoolboy again, short of breath from a single closed-mouth kiss, but looking down at Enjolras he decides that it is an entirely reasonable reaction to have and finds himself already pushing down the desire to lean in and steal another.

“Enjolras,” he murmurs. The moment feels like it may break if he speaks any louder. “Would you like to go out with me?”

Enjolras answers by pulling Grantaire down into another kiss, this one longer than the last.

When they separate, Grantaire reaches out to grasp Enjolras’s hand, pulling him in close.

“Notice how I didn’t rescind that offer. Take notes, Enj,” he whispers.

That earns him a smack on the arm. “You really are a jackass,” Enjolras agrees with a glare that doesn’t meet his eyes. Or mouth. Really, most of his face seems to have missed the memo.

“Your jackass,” Grantaire clarifies. “Now, let’s get inside before your jackass and you start losing fingers and toes.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling and holding his hand, and for now that’s more than enough for Grantaire.

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie, this took under two hours to write, barely any time to edit, and was entirely finished by Boxing Day. I just wanted to get all of the Home Alone AU done with before uploading it. I also have a sadfic sitting on the backburners just waiting for its time...
> 
> I probably should have tried to do something more with the plot, or maybe wait to use the concept in a more complicated story buuuuuuut I didn't want to.
> 
> Yeah, I know you need to be dead for X years before you can be nominated for sainthood. Enj still won't be nominated for sainthood.
> 
> Like it? Don't like it? Did I miss a warning? (it has suspiciously few trigger warnings, given that it's something I've written...) Let me know in the comments or at my [tumblr](http://shitpostingfromthebarricade.tumblr.com)!


End file.
